


Wedding Bell Blues: Or, The Cake is a Lie

by azurish



Category: D.E.B.S. (2004)
Genre: Communication Failure, Crack, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Misses Clause Challenge, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13054134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurish/pseuds/azurish
Summary: “Oryou could refrain from murdering people on your wedding day and instead let the D.E.B.S. take care of it. Or Interpol. Or the CIA. Or even one of your criminal mastermind friends.” Scud frowned. “That reminds me – did we ever work out that Interpol-CIA seating arrangement problem?  I’ve heard most of Interpol is still pretty sore over that jurisdiction dispute with the Agency last month.”Lucy waved a hand.  “I’m pretty sure Amy handled it.  She’s been so good with all those little details.”Lucy and Amy get married.





	Wedding Bell Blues: Or, The Cake is a Lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RecessiveJean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecessiveJean/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! Thank you for providing such wonderful prompts - it was honestly a delight to write for you, and I hope you enjoy this at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it. =)

“Just _tell_ her,” Scud groaned.

“OK, but if I _didn’t_ tell her, I could sneak out right before the reception and quietly vaporize Ninotchka, and Amy never has to know,” Lucy said.  The white jumpsuit she was wearing was unzipped to her waist and she was experimenting with inconspicuous ways to fasten a gun to her garter.  Years of working in far closer quarters than this had obliterated the last vestige of self-consciousness the two felt around each other, and Scud was sitting on the hotel room bed next to her, trying to fluff up his hair.

“ _Or_ you could refrain from murdering people on your wedding day and instead let the D.E.B.S. take care of it.  Or Interpol.  Or the CIA.  Or even one of your criminal mastermind friends.”  Scud frowned.  “That reminds me – did we ever work out that Interpol-CIA seating arrangement problem?  I’ve heard most of Interpol is still pretty sore over that jurisdiction dispute with the Agency last month.”

Lucy waved a hand.  “I’m pretty sure Amy handled it.  She’s been so good with all those little details.”

“Well, the point is, with a bunch of CIA and Interpol agents there, not to mention the leaders of half the organized crime rings in Europe and at least one criminal whom I know for a fact is wanted on multiple planets,” Scud continued, “there are going to be at least a hundred other people at your wedding who are fully capable of keeping your crazy Russian assassin ex from crashing the ceremony.  Some of them can even do it legally!  This is definitely one of those wedding day details you should leave to someone else.  Just think about it – what would _Martha Stewart Weddings_ say?”

Between Scud’s well-intentioned research jags and Janet’s subscription-purchasing habit, Lucy and Amy had been drowning in bridal magazines for months, so Lucy felt fairly confident of Martha Stewart’s support when she replied, “ _Martha Stewart Weddings_ would say that having your ex crash your wedding is gauche.  Or overdramatic.  Or _tacky_.”

“Amy is madly in love with you,” Scud said, trying a different line of attack.  “If you think her finding out you have a bit of a dramatic past – as if she has no idea – is going to give her, what, cold feet, you’re out of your mind.  So your ex has been sending you threatening messages about ruining your special day.  Well, _everyone_ has unfortunate exes.  Amy has that Bobby guy who seems to have given her half his dad’s jewelry drawer.  You don’t have to handle Ninotchka all by yourself.  I’m sure MI6, for one, would be delighted to get their hands on a tip-off about Ninotchka’s likely whereabouts later today.  It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

Lucy shot him a pleading look.  “I hate when you give me those eyes,” he said.  Fiddling uncomfortably with the rose in his buttonhole, he sighed.  “I hate when you _know_ your plan is a terrible one and you give me those eyes anyways.”

“Don’t touch that – you’ll mess up your flower,” Lucy said, batting his hand away from the pink blossom.  “Amy loves the flowers.”

“I think,” Scud said, with the particular tone of longsuffering resignation that he had honed over a decade of dealing with supervillainous crises, “we have larger problems right now than my flower.”

 

*

 

“Just tell her!” Max insisted.

Amy frowned.  “That’s not a helpful suggestion.  Anyone else?”

Janet shrugged.  “It seems to me like this sort of crisis is really the maid of honor’s responsibility.  If Max doesn’t have any ideas, well …”

“Not helpful either.  Dominique?”

In lieu of a response, Dominique took a long drag on her cigarette.  Amy groaned.

“Why would telling her be so bad?” Max demanded.  With her cellphone pressed against one ear, still on hold with the florist to confirm the delivery of the reception flowers, she was fixing her lipstick in the mirror.  Meanwhile, Amy was barely succeeding in doing up the laces at the back of her dress with both hands free and nothing else to focus on.

“Tell her what?” Amy retorted.  “That I was so distracted by my recent studio installation that I _forgot_ to order our wedding cake?  The kind of person who doesn’t prioritize their relationship enough to remember to actually buy a wedding cake isn’t the sort of person who seems like an attractive stable long-term partner, Max.  That sounds – flakey and immature – and Lucy’s so _perfect_ , and she deserves _the best_ –”

Dominique rolled her eyes.

“You do remember she’s a criminal mastermind, right?” Janet said.

“ _Ex_ -criminal mastermind,” Amy reminded her.

“Still.  Forgetting to order a wedding cake is nothing compared to blowing up Australia –”

“She didn’t actually blow up Australia,” Amy snapped.

The florist’s voice, tinny and high-pitched, suddenly sounded from Max’s cellphone and Max exited the room to finish the call.

Recognizing her own limitations, Amy gave up on doing up her own laces as a bad job.  “Could you help me tie up the back?” she asked, turning to Janet, who had been idly flipping through one of the dozens of wedding magazines that she had taken to carrying everywhere.  A good third of the stack of magazines in the front room of Lucy and Amy’s apartment in Barcelona had been simply the collected residue of Janet’s frequent visits.  Amy, who had in fact maintained a carefully-curated series of Pinterest boards since Lucy had proposed, had decided that discretion was the better part of valor when it came to Janet’s penchant for leaving wedding spreads open all over their apartment or purchasing them bridal magazine subscriptions without asking.  Some battles were unwinnable – for instance, getting Janet to stop trying to plan her wedding around her, or zipping up her wedding dress by herself.

Janet frowned.  “I don’t know, helping you zip up your dress seems like the sort of thing your _maid-of-honor_ should be doing – ”

“OK, Dominique?”

“Of course,” Dominique said.  Crossing the hotel room from where she had been slouching insouciantly against a wall – a look she somehow managed to pull off despite being dressed in a pale pink bridesmaid’s gown, with a pink rose tucked behind one ear – she helped Amy finish encasing herself the monstrosity she called a dress.  It had looked so _beautiful_ when she’d tried it on in the store, but evidently she hadn’t been paying as much attention as she should to the tremendous exertion it had taken the bridal shop saleswomen to strap her into the gown …

Max reentered the room.

“The flowers are in place,” she said.  “They wanted to give you a hard time about the fact that the reception hall staff weren’t there to sign for them when they arrived, but I told them they could stuff it.”

Amy sighed gratefully.  “You’re the best.”

Such praise was the last straw for Janet.  Abandoning her elliptical approach, Janet apparently decided it was time address the issue she had been sighing over all morning head-on.  “Amy, I still cannot believe you chose Max over me as your maid-of-honor, by the way,” she announced.

“And _I_ still cannot believe you ever thought she would choose you over Max,” said Dominique.

Janet let out a huff of indignation.  Had she not been sitting on the hotel suite’s footstool, Amy imagined she might have stomped her foot.  “I would just like to note for the record that if everything had been up to _Max_ , you would never be marrying Lucy,” she said.  “Who was the one who didn’t say anything about the whole evil tunnel gay bar trip?  Or who covered for you when you were late to a mission briefing because you off hooking up with the enemy?  Or who _never_ told _anyone_ about that time when you were researching lesbian sex tips on one of the academy computers and you infected the whole system with a virus –”

“Wait, you did _what_?” Max demanded, directing a hard stare at Janet.

Janet squeaked and covered her mouth with a hand.  “Oh!”  As Amy turned to glare at her as well, Janet winced.  “Sorry, I meant …”

“Look, I just didn’t want Lucy to think I was boring in bed,” Amy said.  “It’s more difficult to figure out than you’d think, you know.”  She glanced at Max anxiously.

But then the outrage slid off Max’s face and Amy’s best friend suddenly laughed.  “I cannot believe you sometimes, Bradshaw!  Did you know Mr. P took the fall for that?”  Amy shook her head.  “Everyone was sideying him for _days_.”

Although she didn’t smile, Dominique took another long drag on her cigarette, which her teammates knew to translate as the equivalent of laughter, but in French.  Or at least in Dominique’s personal dialect of the language.

“I have no idea how you got away with any of it, honestly.  The ridiculous schemes you managed to cook up …” Max said, shaking her head.

 _Cook up._ A speculative gleam suddenly entered Amy’s eyes.  “Hey, Janet,” she said.  “Do you know how you could make up for spilling that secret to everyone?”

Janet, who had known her too long to be fooled by her deceptively casual tone, fidgeted uncomfortably with the pink rose she had fastened to her headband.  “I mean, it doesn’t seem like it was the end of the world –”

“OK, but you _promised_ on your honor as a D.E.B. that you wouldn’t tell, and now you did,” Amy said.  “So.”

Janet sighed.  “OK.  How could I make it up, then, Amy?”

“You know how you always ended up stress-baking brownies before finals?” Amy said.  She slung a companionable arm around Janet’s shoulder.  “Well.  I was just thinking, it’s not like brownies and cakes are _that_ different …”

 

*

 

Amy had planned to memorize every single moment of her wedding.  She wanted to put her perfect recall to a very personal use for once, committing all the details to memory so she could return to that morning whenever she wanted.  The smell of her bouquet was already imprinted in her memory, just as indelibly as the warmth of her mother’s hand wrapped around one of her forearms and her father’s arm around her waist, as they walked her down the aisle together.  Silly as it was, the way the dust motes in the rustic church tickled her nose and made her want to sneeze was just as deeply emblazoned in her memories as the sting of happy tears at the back of her throat during the long march down the aisle.  Her mother’s blazing smile and the overjoyed, proud tears glistening on her father’s cheeks were carved into her recollections.  She had listened to the processional at least a dozen times already, when she and Lucy had been making decisions  about music and had wanted to be _absolutely_ sure of their choices, but she felt like every note was being seared into her mind for the first time, the rhythm carrying her ever closer to the actual ceremony.

And then she saw Lucy walking toward her, wearing a smile so dazzling that it easily outshone even her stunning ivory jumpsuit.

For the rest of her life, the only details of the actual ceremony Amy would remember were the expressions on Lucy’s face.

She had been the D.E.B.S. perfect score, so supremely gifted at multi-tasking that, by the end of her training, she had been capable of shooting a gun with pinpoint accuracy while carrying on a conversation in a foreign language and picking a double cylinder deadbolt lock.  Hell, she had learned to do all that in a week; the real test had been learning how to do all that while simultaneously preparing Mr. Phipps’s preferred burger order (and the man had been _exacting_ in his standards when it came to the appropriate ratio of pickle to burger patty).  It should have been easy for her to take in her fiancée’s appearance while also memorizing the music cues, the embarrassingly fond grin on Max’s face, her second cousin’s squawk of horror when her phone went off partway through the wedding and no less than three different federal agents hustled her out of the church, the way the lights gleamed softly in the dusty old building, and the officiant’s brisk tones.

But instead all she could focus on was Lucy’s smile, bright as a diamond and just as multifaceted as it shifted to reveal new variations of joy throughout the ceremony.  Her eyes shone with happiness and the thought that _she_ had put that light there made Amy fairly giddy.  The only reason Amy realized she needed to say, “I do,” was that Lucy’s lips had shifted to say the words first.  She was certain “you may now kiss the bride” must have happened, but mostly because Lucy was leaning in, not because she had heard the words herself.

And then they were kissing and everyone was cheering and Amy was so caught up in the moment that she wouldn’t have been able to recall her own name, or the reason why it had seemed so funny that their matching wedding rings were set with opals instead of diamonds, or why they had chosen this church in Reykjavik (where a pastor’s confused guidance in response to Lucy’s obliquely-phrased queries had set Lucy on the path to meeting her), let alone why Janet was absconding with a distressed-looking Scud as the rest of the bridal party left the church.

 

*

 

The wedding reception was at a large hotel halfway across the city.  Lucy did not feel that the interim car ride had provided her with sufficient time to make out with her wife (wife!) to her satisfaction, but she supposed it might be difficult to tell the various gathered Bradshaws, college friends, old roommates, crime-fighting buddies, crime-committing buddies, government agents, anti-government agents, and wedding crashers who were soon to realize they should definitely have chosen another wedding to crash to take a hike.

On the other hand, if she cancelled the party now, they might still be able to give Ninotchka the slip.  Neither Scud nor any of the various mercenaries Scud had assigned to the perimeter had seen hide or hair of her assassin ex during the wedding, so she must be saving making good on her ominous wedding-crashing threats for the reception.

On the third, magically-conjured hand (Lucy had spent a brief period of time aspiring to growing up to be a sorceress, between the pirate phase and the criminal mastermind phase), Amy had put _so_ much work into the reception.  And it really was just a big party to celebrate _them_ , which seemed like it should be pretty fun.  Plus Lucy had arranged for a heart with the words “AMY I’M YOURS” written on it to be projected into the sky halfway through the reception, and she wasn’t sure it would be as clearly visible anywhere else in the city.  She really wanted to see Amy’s reaction to that.

How hard could it really be to keep an eye out for Ninotchka?  Scud and his team were reliable.  And as for the other problem, well, they would have ample time to make out and more, later in the evening.  So it was with only moderate regret that Lucy let Amy detangle them and proceeded into the hotel ballroom.

The evening seemed to fly by in a blur – dances on dances on dances, and whenever they weren’t whirling around the dancefloor, they were accepting heartfelt congratulations from some old acquaintance.  Occasionally, they discovered that they shared former acquaintances they hadn’t even known about – which was a charming coincidence when Amy’s childhood violin instructor turned out to be Lucy’s favorite teacher’s wife, but a bit less charming when Amy’s target on her first mission turned out to be an old smuggler pal of Lucy’s.  Between dancing, trying to remember people’s names, and diplomatically discouraging two ATF agents from arresting a longtime target (“Really?  At my _wedding_ reception?” Amy had said, with such deep disappointment that they had relented on the spot), they were on their feet all evening.  So it was frankly a relief when Lucy caught sight of the multi-tiered wedding cake being wheeled out.  They would _have_ to slow down to cut the cake.

The cake was surprisingly off-theme for the wedding – Amy had been so insistent on coordinating the pale pink color scheme and the roses, but the white cake was frosted with baby blue hearts and red accents.  Maybe Amy had wanted something different, though.  And everything Lucy’s new wife had chosen so far was so beautiful and tasteful – surely she had her reasons.  It certainly was eye-catching; with at least six tiers, it was easily five feet tall, and four members of the wait staff had joined together to wheel it out.

Amy evidently felt even more strongly about the chance to sit down, as she immediately sighed with relief when she saw the cake.  “I should have known you’d have it covered,” she said, turning to Lucy.  “You’re so perfect.”

Lucy accepted the quick kiss, but paused to ask, “Have what covered?” because it seemed important.

Amy frowned.  “The cake,” she said.  “I’ve been so busy these last few weeks – I forgot to order the stupid cake.  I felt terrible – I didn’t realize you’d noticed and arranged to have one delivered yourself.  What would I do without you?”  She leaned in for another kiss.

“Amy, I didn’t order a cake,” Lucy said, concern darkening her gaze, and then Ninotchka Kaprova burst out of the multi-tiered confection.

“Lucy Diamond!” the assassin yelled, but the intended intimidating effect was rather ruined by the cardboard and frosting caught in her hair.  “You faithless date-canceller – toying with women’s hearts –”

“Duck!” Lucy yelped, shoving Amy behind the nearest table.  She rummaged around inside her jumpsuit to draw her gun.  By the time she made eye contact with Amy the other woman had turned the table on its side to fashion a makeshift cover and was producing a Taser from somewhere within her ball gown.

Pandemonium had erupted on the dance floor.  The majority of Lucy’s friends had apparently ignored the injunction on the invitation against bringing weapons; Amy’s friends were, if anything, worse.  The popping of gunfire echoed across the dancefloor like a supremely badly-timed fireworks show as the strains of “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” continued to blare from the sound system.  The whole room smelled like smoke, and Lucy found herself quite grateful for Amy’s practicality in securing them shelter.  The two brides huddled together behind the table, taking turns to peer out above the edge and determine what was happening.

Ninotchka seemed not to have given sufficient thought to the practicalities of crashing a superspy-supervillain wedding, because she soon found herself pinned down by a surprisingly well-coordinated rain of gunfire from a member of the Lobster Crime Syndicate and an FBI agent.  The two of them notably avoided eye contact as they pinned Ninotchka down and handcuffed her, but Lucy saw the criminal slip his number into the agent’s back pocket while he wasn’t looking.  Although nothing seemed to have come of their efforts at matchmaking through rehearsal dinner seating arrangements, it seemed that their wedding wasn’t going to fail completely to inspire some sort of young love.

“That was _definitely_ not the sort of dancer emerging out of a cake I had in mind for the festivities,” Lucy said.  “Not that I wanted any dancers emerging out of cakes at all,” she added quickly, after a sharp glance from Amy.  She sighed and sat down on one of the abandoned chairs.  “I wish that particular dancer had just decided to leave it at threatening messages and stay away all day, really.”

“Threatening messages?” Amy asked.  She sat down next to Lucy, resting a hand against the bare skin of one of Lucy’s biceps.

Lucy sighed.  Well, the cat was royally out of the bag now.  Or perhaps the cat was being arrested and stuffed in a new bag – she could see representatives from several different law enforcement agencies standing around the defeated Russian assassin and arguing over custody.  Behind them, Amy’s maid of honor, Max, appeared to be engaged in some sort of vicious dispute of her own with the hotel staff.  As far as Lucy could tell, she was arguing over whether the wedding party was liable for damages from the firefight or whether it was the hotel’s own fault for literally wheeling Lucy’s murderous ex into the room.

“She’s been sending me threatening messages,” Lucy admitted, when Amy kept looking at her with concern instead of turning away.  “I didn’t want to tell you because … it’s stupid.”

“I didn’t want to tell you I’d forgotten the cake in case it made you think I was irresponsible,” Amy admitted.  “Too caught up in my own art show for the past few weeks to pay attention to our wedding.”

“I’d never think that,” Lucy said immediately.  “I love you, Amy, and I love your art, and I love how much _you_ love your art – and more to the point, I know how much effort you’ve put into every detail of this whole day.”

“How much effort we’ve _both_ put in,” Amy said.

Lucy nodded.  “OK.  So I didn’t tell you about Ninotchka because I was embarrassed, because – well, come on, it’s such a cliché, right?  Having your _ex_ with hard feelings crash your wedding – it’s just ridiculous.  Plus I thought I could handle her.”  She frowned.  “I thought Scud, who was supposed to be watching out for her, could handle her too.  But I haven’t seen him since the ceremony …  Anyway.  I didn’t want it to bother you.”

“If anything’s bothering you, it’s my responsibility to help you fix it now,” Amy said firmly.  “I love you.  And you’re my _wife_.”

By the time they finished kissing after that declaration, Max had argued the hotel staff into submission and the various law enforcement officials had apparently decided to settle their dispute with a multi-round dance-off.  Someone had coaxed the DJ back into place and the playlist Lucy had helped curate resumed.  “Shall we?” Lucy asked, getting up and offering Amy her arm.

“My pleasure, Mrs. Bradshaw,” Amy said, with a delighted grin.  It took Amy a moment longer to lever herself to her feet – her ball gown, though beautiful, was slightly less practical for impromptu shoot-outs than Lucy’s jumpsuit – but then they were dancing again.  All things considered, Lucy decided that going through with the reception had probably been worth it, just to see her wife smiling at her while half a dozen law enforcement agents argued vigorously over a dance-off scoring system behind them and three of Amy’s cousins debated whose glassware gift set had been shot to shards during the fight and who should get credit for giving the surviving gifts.

Half an hour later, when Janet, frazzled and sweaty in her wilting bridesmaid dress, and Scud, inexplicably covered in flour, appeared with a very lumpy-looking cake, Lucy wasn’t taking any chances.  Shoot first and ask questions later was the order of the day.  From within her jumpsuit, Lucy produced her gun and vaporized the cake immediately.

Janet wailed as the dancefloor was suddenly inundated with the scent of burned brownies.  Scud looked almost as put out as his accomplice.

Amy started to giggle.  “Er, I maybe should’ve warned you – it completely slipped my mind, but I might have twisted Janet’s arm into baking us a wedding cake, when I realized I’d forgotten to order one …”

If Lucy hadn’t already looked ridiculously besotted, the loving look she threw her might have been enough to make Amy propose all over again.  “You blackmailed Janet into making a wedding cake?  _Babe_ ,” she said, with delight, and then she kissed Amy full on again, one hand tangling in Amy’s hair while the other waved her disintegration gun freely around the dancefloor.  Several nearby couples ducked.

“You know, that took us _two hours_ ,” Scud said, hands on his hips, when they finally broke apart.  “See if _I_ send you the honeymoon itinerary I arranged while you two were too busy organizing the ceremony.  Janet?”  He offered her his arm.  “ _I_ am going somewhere where people don’t _blow up_ the cakes that their best men and bridesmaids make for them.”

“We’ll be fine,” Amy whispered to Lucy.  “I’m sure he’ll calm down soon.  And besides, how hard can planning our own honeymoon on the fly be?  Just as long as we don’t get tickets to Australia …”


End file.
